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“My gut still says so. Which means I need you to get me those CI documents. I’ll give you the guy’s registration number. Take it. Pull any papers with a matching number. Photocopy all communications between him and Jack. Do it fast. If this guy is who I think he is, we might have found a solid revenge motive. One that would explain a lot. Because it extends beyond the courtroom, to the closest people in Jack and Lara Winter’s lives.”
TWENTY-ONE
It was just after one-thirty when Lane, Arthur, Jonah, and their guide, Rob, put on their fat skis in the thigh-deep snow and checked their safety equipment in anticipation of their last run of the day.
Lane gazed around him, experiencing a sensory high. He was transfixed by the beauty of the snow-covered mountains—powerful, defiant, and free from man’s interference, except for the insignificant lines carved by their skis in the huge expanse of white that rose all around them. Even those would be gone in a day or so, and all traces of their presence would be wiped out, buried under a new fall of snow.
Maybe that was nature’s way of cleansing herself from intruders.
Eager to preserve the image, Lane shot some stills, then twisted around and focused on Arthur, who was giving Jonah a few pointers. The scene looked so natural and appealing. A middle-aged man and a high school teen standing side by side, their postures alike, their minds in sync, as one taught, the other learned. From an artistic and a human standpoint, it was inspiring. And from a pragmatic standpoint, it made Congressman Shore come across as that much more human, seeing him share his knowledge and experience with a budding young man.
This spread for Time was going to knock their readers’ socks off.
JONAH’S SKIING HAD gotten progressively better, particularly with Arthur’s periodic coaching. His inexperience was transforming into confidence. Until now, he’d restrained himself from letting loose with his newfound skill. But now…the day was almost over. His chance of reveling in the full experience was nearing an end, despite the soreness and fatigue he was starting to feel.
For the last run, they’d agreed to let him lead.
Time to show off his recently acquired prowess.
Adrenaline thrumming through his veins, Jonah headed down the hill. Using his poles, he pushed off.
At first, his rhythm matched the grade perfectly. He was able to ignore the twinges and weakness in his muscles. But as time passed and his descent continued, the weakness intensified. His legs began feeling rubbery and nonresponsive.
Unwilling to give in, he started into the next turn. His mind issued instructions, but his body wouldn’t—couldn’t—comply.
The grade sharply increased. So did Jonah’s speed.
He lost the battle.
Pitching forward, his momentum sent him careening down the mountain, tumbling through the deep snow until his fall was broken by a small tree. He struck it and bounced off. Stunned, his lungs gasping for air and his body throbbing, he lay there, buried in the snow, clutching his side and moaning in pain.
The others quickly caught up to him.
“Jonah, are you all right?” Lane was kneeling beside him.
“I…I think so,” he managed.
“Are you able to stand?” Arthur demanded.
They all watched as Jonah tried to comply, and failed, wincing as he did.
Rob, their guide, who was also a trained EMT, sprang into action. He partially unzipped Jonah’s shell so he could feel for any bleeding. Jonah groaned when his left side was touched.
“Let’s get him checked out,” Rob determined.
“I’m fine.” Jonah was struggling to get up, visibly upset and embarrassed by his fall and the scene it had caused.
“Probably,” Lane agreed, helping him to his feet. “But we’re not taking any chances. And, by the way, we all take spills. That was a tough section. Not your best skiing of the day, but you held your own for most of it.”
“Pretty agilely at that,” Arthur added, manning Jonah’s other side as Rob radioed the chopper pilot and directed him to their location. “I’ve got to tell you, Jonah, I’m impressed. You’ve got a natural stance and aptitude for this. That was some pretty impressive heli-skiing for a first-timer.”
“Thanks, sir.” Jonah’s breathing and color were returning to normal.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Lane retorted. “What you did was still reckless.”
“And we both would have done the same thing,” Arthur amended drily. “Right, Lane?”
Lane shot him a look. “You’re not helping, Congressman.”
